vicissitude
by Rhi Marzano
Summary: Tobias and Jake and precarious domesticity; companion to Repercussions and Adjuvant Attraction. Slash.


**v_i_cissitude** by rhi marzano  
censor: R-ish, I guess.  
[A/N: companion to Adjuvant Attraction and Repercussions. Slash. Slash. Slash. Male/Male action here. You don't like it? You don't have to read it. Love to Lee and Shayna, all my old Ani-fandom homies, and all you who've been bugging me about this.]

* * *

Jake had a nice house, and for good reason--Marco had picked it out and had it decorated. There were plenty of bedrooms, three large living-area-rooms, and the bathrooms all had those Jacuzzi things in them. But the kitchen was really its best feature, state-of-the-art and spacious. It was wasted on Jake, because every morning he ate the same thing: a bowl of Frosted Flakes with organic milk. For a while I wondered if he liked organic milk just because the bottle had a happy-looking cow on it, or if it was some sort of principled thing. After he spouted off passionately on how we needed to curb the use of xenobiotics, I filed it under "principles."

But I took a few cooking classes, because I felt it was horrible just to let such a great kitchen only be used to store milk and cereal. To my surprise, I actually liked cooking, and more to the point, Jake liked my cooking. Breakfast was hopeless, but I actually got him to eat lunch, and he even looked _forward_ to dinner.

Jake had been teaching some morphing class, to people who were ten or fifteen years older than we'd been when everything began. People who were older than us, still. He'd do it in the afternoons and come home looking drained and old. We'd eat dinner and be together, and by the morning he'd be eating his Frosted Flakes and criticizing the politicians while he read his morning paper. Normal.

Tonight, on the outset, didn't seem to call for anything out of the ordinary. But that's the way it always seems.

"Hey," he called, sounding a little grumpy, opening the door but not shutting it. It wasn't hot enough for the air conditioning to be on, but the breeze was nice.

"Hey," I replied, stirring the green beans. Jake came into the kitchen, set his chin on my shoulder, and wrapped his arms around me.

"I'm going to quit," he said.

"You say that every night, and you never do."

"I mean it this time."

"You know there isn't anyone else who has the experience."

He sighed. "I know." We stood like that for a while, and then Jake peered over my shoulder. "You're making stir fry? I like your stir fry."

"I know."

"Actually, I like pretty much everything you make." He kissed my cheek and released me. "Though maybe I just like watching you make it...there's something so sexy and domestic about it."

"I hope you're not holding out for me being barefoot and pregnant."

He laughed quietly and shook his head.

* * *

After dinner, we watched TV. It became plain that Jake was not very interested in watching TV, mainly because his hand kept straying to the seam of my pants. I gave up before the program was even over, because it's stupid to put off something both parties want.

Almost as soon as I'd turned off the television, his mouth was on mine, licking and sucking, and his hands slid down my sides and unbuttoned my shirt. I tugged his t-shirt off easily and set to work on his pants. We'd fallen into a rhythm, worked out the most efficient way for both of us to get naked, fast. And while we occasionally abandoned it for the sake of spontaneity, most of the time we had no problem with quick and naked.

"You're so beautiful," he said, voice muffled.

I blushed--couldn't help it, even if it's not the first time he's said it. It's not something a guy likes to hear most of the time. He wants to be handsome or rugged or whatever. But Jake says it and it's special.

His mouth trailed down my body, pausing at my nipples and my belly button. _Why_ he finds my belly button so interesting, I have yet to understand. And he slowed his pace deliberately--he was so close... _I_ was so close--damn, we've been together _too long_ for it to still be like this, every--

The living room door opened, and a voice rang out. "Jake, Tobias. I came in, front door was open. You guys want to shoot some hoops or--"

Oh, God.

It was Marco.

I looked over the edge of the couch, where Marco stood in shock. His mouth hung open, literally.

"How long has this been.... what the hell... since when are you _gay_?" he finally blurted out.

I didn't know how to answer; it was a perfectly legitimate question. But as my brain floundered with possible responses, Jake took charge--as usual. "Marco," Jake said softly, "I know this has got to be a shock. Let us get some clothes on, and we'll go talk about this in the kitchen. Over food."

"I can make Thai," I offered.

"I like Thai," Marco agreed hesitantly.

"You make _great_ Thai," Jake whispered to me, hungrily, though I knew he wasn't actually hungry for Thai. 

I wanted nothing more than to take him right there, on the couch, but Marco was standing in the doorway and we owed him an explanation.

I owed Marco for my kitchen.

* * *


End file.
